


snapshots

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [14]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rollercoasters, hamster shenanigans, self-indulgent romantic garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Four side stories:Lance, Keith, and Hunk ride a rollercoaster.Lance stresses in the beginning moments of their relationship. (from the prompt: the happiest we ever were.)Lance loses Red. A hunt ensues. (written for day 3 of fictober)Date night with Klance, written for anon.





	snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> collecting the little stories i write and post to tumblr (:

Hunk was whimpering on Lance’s right.

On Lance’s left, Keith had stopped breathing.

“Please tell me you’re scared,” Lance muttered, blinking at the approaching ceiling.

“Always,” Keith replied with unrestrained glee.

“We’re going to die,” Hunk moaned.

“We’re not going to die, Hunk.”

“What do you know! You walk around with a death wish! You drive too fast!”

“—when have you seen me—”

“I just _know_ , Keith!”

“Guys,” Lance groaned. “ _Guys_.”

The rollercoaster was creaking around them. Lance’s stomach flipped over. Their ascent slowed. He prayed for the first time in years.

“Fuck,” Hunk said. “ _Fuck_ , Keith and _fuck you_.”

“I’m glad that’s the last thing I’m going to hear before I die,” Lance said.

“You’re not going to die,” Keith said. “Besides, Hunk is going to scream.”

Lance thought about twisting his head to look at Keith but there was an irrational fear buzzing around his mind that if he moved, even a little, his head was going to fly off.

“I think I’m scared,” Lance said thoughtfully.

“You’ll be fine,” Keith said.

“I love you guys,” Hunk added, and Lance was gong to thank him or something and then they were dropping and the rollercoaster was roaring and Hunk was screaming on Lance’s right, and Keith was laughing on his left.

***

“You’ve never been on a rollercoaster?” Keith had said, sitting cross-legged on a bench and clutching an empty coffee cup.

He had seemed—brighter, somehow. A few of Lance’s suspicions had been confirmed.

“Keith,” Hunk had said. “Are you a secret daredevil?”

“Is it a secret?” Lance had asked.

“I’m an adrenaline junkie,” Keith had corrected and up and left Hunk and Lance in the shadow of the enormous triple-loop rollercoaster. Lance had thought he was going to get more coffee, or a snack, or maybe a pair of shoes (who knew with Keith, really) and then Keith had returned with three tickets and Hunk had gagged.

“Neat!” Lance had said, genuinely excited. Like a fool.

***

“Uh, boys?”

“We’re men,” Lance blurted, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Grown men.”

Keith snorted.

“Whatever you are,” said the attendant, not unkindly. “You gotta get out.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Hunk moaned.

“My neck hurts,” Lance observed.

“Come on,” Keith said, and helped the attendant pry both of them out of the seats.

Hunk retched over a garbage bin once they were off the platform.

Lance walked in what felt like a zig-zag.

“That wasn’t fun,” he said.

“You’ll get used to it,” Keith promised, rubbing his back with little warm circles of what Lance could now cheerfully call ‘love.’

“I hate you, Keith,” Hunk said. “Not joking.”

Lance looked at Keith, with his bright smile and his bright eyes and his messy hair, and he thought that he wanted to smile back. Because there was something awesome about Keith, laughing in his ear and looking all windswept and pleased—

He turned away and shoved at Hunk’s shoulder. “Move,” he all but belched and promptly threw up in the recently emptied bin.

“Oh, Lance,” Hunk was saying on his right.

And on his left, Keith made soft, slightly strangled noises of pity.

But when he was done and had wiped his mouth with a napkin from Keith’s perpetual stash, he felt better. A side benefit of this latest configuration: Hunk and Keith sandwiching him in between them, like _he_ , Lance, was the one who couldn’t be trusted.

He tossed the soiled napkin over his shoulder.

“Well,” Lance said. “Let’s go again.”

 

* * *

The first day: Keith kissed him. And the first one caught Lance off guard, made him gape and panic just a little. The second one surprised him, too, like Keith wanted to kiss the “sure” from Lance’s lips. And Lance said something like “are you going to keep doing that” and Keith said something like “if you’ll let me.” That was when Lance believed him. That was when Lance started to think it was okay to melt into Keith and maybe when Keith started to think it would be okay to run his hands through Lance’s hair and press soft, nervous kisses to his chin and the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t ask Lance once if he felt the same. Maybe he knew before Lance did. Maybe he was afraid. But something warm and buoyant swelled in Lance’s chest with every kiss and it became easy to reach out and touch Keith, to feel that he was really there and this was really happening.

He blushed and he stammered and, at some point, he started smiling and couldn’t stop and he wondered why it took so long to get to this point. Keith pulled him onto his bed and kissed his cheek and at some point Lance deflated and he fell asleep with Keith’s hand tangled in his hair and their hamster rolling about their room and nothing—no snow, no exam, no hangover—was going to ruin that.

He woke up to a dark room, alone. He sat up. He touched his lips. He wondered if he had dreamt it all but what a weird dream to have and  _ Keith could never know _ —

“Want to get dinner?” Keith asked from his desk, twisted in his chair to look at Lance.

“Sure,” Lance choked out.

And they walked down to the cafeteria like nothing had changed. Like nothing had happened. Terror churned in Lance’s stomach.

Nothing was going to touch their sleepy afternoon together. Nothing was ever going to feel as right as Keith kissing him, soft and hesitant but brave and warm. While they waited in line, Lance tried to study Keith’s profile but Keith noticed and Lance had to look away (but managed not to run away).

Did he like Keith? Did he want this? Did he want Keith’s lips on his skin and Keith’s hands in his hair and Keith’s voice against his ear?

Lance slept poorly that night. All he wanted was to crawl back into their moment of firsts and magic and a little bit of romance but it felt far away already.

 

***

 

The second day: Lance got up first. Early. He ran. He slipped in the new snow. He came back earlier than he’d like, feeling wound up and tense and restless. He showered. He decided he’d act like nothing had happened. They couldn’t hold each other to something they didn’t acknowledge, right? If they never talked about it, if they never did it again, then Keith’s kisses would fade to a memory. Maybe a daydream.

Lance couldn’t shake the half-belief that he had imagined the whole thing.

And then Keith caught his elbow as he was going down for breakfast, just as Lance half-opened their door.

Keith pushed it shut again.

Lance froze.

“Look,” Keith said without meeting Lance’s eyes. “About yesterday—“

“Yeah?” Lance realized he was sweating, that he was clutching their doorknob.

He felt very cool. He felt like screaming.

Keith frowned. “Are you—” He broke off. He frowned some more.

“What?”

“Do you still want to?”

Lance sucked in a breath.

Keith flushed. “I mean. Do you still want to go out with me?”

It all felt very lame.

And good.

Good?

Lance swallowed. “Yes,” he said, and then something cold rushed through him. “Do  _ you _ still want to go out with  _ me _ ?”

Keith finally looked at him. “I’m the one who asked.”

Lance scowled. “Well! Maybe you changed your mind.”

“You wish,” Keith muttered and he grabbed a handful of Lance’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss that felt more like they were knocking their faces together than anything soft or romantic or nice but Lance squeaked all the same.

They stared at each other.

“Uh,” Keith said.

Yes. Good.

Lance released the doorknob. Keith’s grip on his shirt tightened and Lance had a moment of vertigo. He forgot to keep breathing.

He brushed his thumbs under Keith’s eyes, feeling his skin like that was proof yesterday wasn’t so far away after all.

Keith had nice eyes. They caught you and they made you look and  _ how _ had Lance managed to miss that for so long? He felt caught, now. His hands were fused to Keith’s face forever. They were never going to move again.

There was just this.

And then Keith smiled and Lance’s stomach lurched and the next kiss was the best one yet.

 

* * *

 

Mike knew something was up when Lance tucked his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels and said without shame or humour or any signature Lance-ness: “Hi honey.”

Mike knew that Keith knew something was up because Keith froze like an ice block and just stared at Lance. Like Lance was a puzzle.

“Uh,” Mike said.

“Lance,” Keith said. “What did you do?”

Lance rocked some more. His mouth twitched. He looked, Mike thought, a little panicked.

“Oh,” Lance started. “You know.”

“Lance.”

Lance hunched. “We wanted to surprise you?”

“Who is  _ we _ ?”

“Uh. Me and Red.”

“Who’s Red?” Mike stage-whispered.

Keith put his bag down. “Our hamster,” he said, maybe through his teeth.

“You guys have a hamster?”

“We did!” Lance threw his hands in the air. “And then I lost her!”

Mike blinked. “You brought a hamster—“

“She likes sitting in my pocket!”

“She likes staying at home!”

“Wait.” Mike nudged Keith with his elbow. “Is there a rodent running around right now?” He eyed the floor.

Lance grimaced. “Yes.”

Mike whistled. “Facilities won’t like that.” He paused. “It’s kind of cute that you guys have a hamster.”

“Had a hamster,” Lance groaned. “ _ Had _ .”

“We’ll find her,” Keith said with that special Keith-brand of authority that made Mike stand a little straighter.

It apparently had no effect on Lance, who all but leapt across the hallway and clutched Keith’s shoulders. “What if we don’t?” Lance sucked in a long breath. “What if I killed her?”

“She’s not very fast.”

“What if someone  _ stepped on her _ ?”

Mike cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll just—go.”

He was a little over a head taller than Keith. His legs were longer so he could probably even outrun Keith. Sometimes, Mike even liked to pretend that he was stronger than Keith. But Keith had this way of looking at a man that made Mike, in particular, shrink to half his size and turned his spine to jelly.

(“Are you even human?” Mike had asked once and Keith had just shrugged and alarmed half the team.)

“Mike,” Keith said. “Can I trust you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Mike,” Keith said again and yeah, Mike crumpled a bit. “Be a good friend.”

“Help a teammate out,” Lance piped up.

And that was how Mike wound up spending a precious half an hour of his Thursday night looking for a hamster and learning too much about his supposed friend and his boyfriend.

“What does it look like?” Mike asked.

“She,” Keith corrected.

“She’s, like, an orangey-red,” Lance said.

“You named your orangey-red hamster...Red.”

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

And Mike dropped it because Keith shot him a look and he was busy looking for a hamster.

“She’s kind of fat,” Lance said.

“She’s really fat,” Keith muttered.

And they broke into bickering that made Mike want to crawl inside a garbage can and pretend he was dead.

When people asked him what he was doing, he choked out: “Nothing.” Because Lance had sworn him to secrecy and Mike was a little afraid of Keith.

Just a little.

“You guys really like this hamster, huh?”

“She’s a good hamster,” Keith snapped.

Mike found her by a compost bin and didn’t entirely realize what he was seeing because Red, apparently, could make herself look like a pancake. He crouched and he stared at the fluff and the rise and fall of her breathing and listened to Keith and Lance bicker further down the hall.

“Hi Red,” he said, exhausted. “Do you really fit in Lance’s pocket?”

Red blinked her black eyes at him.

Mike scooped her up and carried her back to Keith and Lance who received her with more fanfare than Mike thought was strictly necessary. They cooed, even.

Red seemed unconcerned.

 

* * *

 

“You pick.”

“You’ll complain.”

“I’ll complain anyways.”

“You’re going to go to sleep.”

“Maybe!”

Lance dumped his armful of blankets on Keith. Keith shoved them away and leaned around Lance to look at the television.

“Scary movie?” Keith asked.

Lance shrugged.

“Happy movie?”

“Like...Happy Feet?”

Keith frowned up at him. Lance shrugged again.

“You want to watch...penguins?”

“Again—like Happy Feet?” Lance paused. “Or, like, a documentary?”

“We haven’t finished Planet Earth 2,” Keith mused.

“It’s going to get depressing,” Lance said soberly. “I just know it.”

“We could try to watch Blue Planet again. You’d like that.”

“No documentaries,” Lance decided and turned to wander back towards the kitchen. 

“That puts us a little closer to a decision, I guess.”

“Just pick something!” Lance put his hands on his hips and surveyed the kitchen. He walked to the fridge. Opened it. Closed it. Huffed. “Something that we can snack during.”

“We can snack during anything,” Keith called. He muttered something Lance couldn’t hear. Probably movie genres. Or titles. Like when he was doing a difficult reading for class and started mumbling words Lance only half-heard or half-understood.

(“I don’t get it either,” Keith had said once and gestured a little violently at his own face. “Hence, the muttering.”

“It might be mumbling,” Lance had suggested cheerfully.

Keith had just groaned pressed his face into his anthology.)

Lance opened their snack cupboard and drumming his fingers against the door. “Ugh, whatever,” he decided and began snatching bags of snacks and goodies. Some of it was probably Hunk’s.

That was Hunk’s problem.

“Hunk should be here,” Keith said when Lance returned, his arms full of snacks now.

“I was just thinking about Hunk,” Lance said. He dumped the snacks next to Keith. Keith glanced at them. 

“Thinking about eating his snacks, more like.”

“He left them here! In  _ my _ home, in  _ my _ snack cupboard.” Lance sniffed and plopped onto the couch. “He knew what was coming.”

Keith eyed the snack pile, then went back to looking at the TV. “Anyways. I was saying: Hunk should be here. He’s good at picking stuff.”

Hunk, in truth, just got annoyed and made Keith click whatever. “Just make a decision,” he’d say.

“Hunk would tell us to just make a decision,” Lance said.

“Yeah, sure,” Keith muttered, squinting. “Whatever, Hunk. You’re not even here.” He tugged a blanket from the pile with his free hand and tried to toss it towards Lance.

Lance snatched it and wrapped it around his shoulders. He shuffled back on the couch and pulled up his feet and watched Keith scroll with Netflix genres.

“What’s on our list?” he said eventually.

“A lot,” Keith replied. “Too much, probably.”

A bag of chocolates toppled to the floor. They ignored it.

“We can just pick something from the list, then,” Lance said. “I don’t know. Like, uh, there’s that movie with Lily James!”

“That movie,” Keith echoed drily.

“You are the least helpful Keith I know.”

Keith paused. He tilted his head. “Am I the only Keith you know?”

“No clue. But, you’re the only one that matters.” Lance tried to flutter his eyelashes but just made himself nauseous.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Keith grimaced and reached the bottom of the Netflix scroll. He tapped the button on the remote a couple of more times, like another category would reveal itself.

“I’ll go get the list,” Lance said without getting up. “I think it’s on the fridge right now.”

“We aren’t watching anything from the list.”

“Isn’t that why we make the list? To keep track of things we want to watch?” Lance gestured towards the television. “You know, on date nights?”

“Date night isn’t for the list,” Keith replied. “Date night is for a movie or whatever that we’ll only half-watch because we’re too busy shoving food in our faces.”

“A good point.”

“When we say ‘date night,’ Lance, we mean ‘slugging on the couch.’”

“Slugging,” Lance repeated with appreciation. “And making out.”

“If only,” Keith muttered, starting the slow scroll back up. “More likely, you’ll eat that bag of Crispers and then you’ll go to sleep.”

Lance considered this. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Keith looked at him with a small smile. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

Lance beamed. “Pick one of your garbage action movies.”

“I need you to be awake for that.”

“So I can suffer?”

“So you can suffer. Suffering’s half the fun.”

“I hate Bruce Willis.”

“You don’t even know Bruce Willis.”

Lance snatched up the Crispers and tore it open. “Just put on Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ll pass right out.”

“You make me sound like an old man.” 


End file.
